Life Worth Living
by JuniperLemon
Summary: Life for single parent, John Watson, is absolute chaos and it only gets worse when he meets an eccentric detective.
1. Chapter 1

"Hamish, please stop." John sighed as he hauled the toddler onto his hip from the floor and held him tight. He wasn't letting him wriggle from his grip again. "You need to calm down."

Between long hospital shifts and single handedly raising a child, John had no time to rest. He was exhausted and had been for months but he wouldn't send Hamish to daycare for a single minute longer than necessary. He already knew that his long hours wouldn't be good for bonding between the two of them.

"How long was nap time today?" John mumbled beneath his breath as he limped along the pavement in the direction of home. Taxis were expensive and the six days a week childcare sucked every last penny from the poor doctor.

Hamish bounced up and down, using John's thigh as leverage. The doctor winced but couldn't find the energy to scold the boy. He just tightened his grip on the toddlers waist and increased his speed.

"Papa!" Hamish squealed into John's ear, "Ice creams!" His chubby hand stretched out towards an ice cream truck pulled up on the opposite side of the traffic.

Feeling guilty, John pulled out his wallet and counted the few pounds sitting there.

"Okay, baby." The doctor brushed the boy's hair from his face before carefully crossing the road to reach the truck.

He picked out a simple Mr Whippy and paid the man. John held onto the bottom as Hamish began to lick the creamy vanilla, getting stickiness over his cheeks. His little hands held tightly to the cone but John didn't trust his grip. He couldn't risk his son dropping it then crying for another.

"Heading home now." He placed a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead before walking again.

John leant against the bath with one hand dangling in the cooling water. Despite his exhaustion, he knew better than to leave a small child unattended in the water. Hamish splashed playfully with the toys.

The doctor rested his head against the lip of the tub but didn't allow for his eyes to slide closed. He watched his son playing happily.

Unlike many children, Hamish always adored bath time and it was a great routine before bed for the little one. The blond hair had darkened as water was soaked up. Strands stuck to the forehead of the toddler. John was sure his hair looked similar due to the water his son was throwing around but he let the boy just enjoy his bath. The bright smile keeping positivity alive within the man.

"Okay, buddy. You ready to dry off?"

Hamish pouted but eventually nodded when John brought over his favourite fluffy towel and held it out to tempt him.

Standing up,"Papa! Up, up! Please!" He cried, laughing.

John chuckled as he wrapped the towel around the small body, careful not to get the bottom in the water, and lifted the boy into the air. Hamish spread his arms as though he were flying. Whilst in the air, John began to rub the towel against the skin to speed up the drying process.

"Papa! Me flying! Watch Papa! Watch me flying!" He laughed and wriggled as the towel tickled him.

"You're so high!" The doctor pretended to be in awe, "Like an astronaut, Ishy!" He cooed out the pet name.

John slowly brought his son down until his small soles touched the cheap vinyl flooring. The boy clapped, thrilled. John just hoped that he never grew out of his child-like excitement. Although, the daily act of lifting up the growing child wasn't doing good on his damaged shoulder.

Dumping the towel, Hamish ran off though the apartment completely naked. At least they never had guests over these days.


	2. Chapter 2

"Have you picked out a story?" John asked as he rounded the door and into his son's small room, just large enough for a bed, set of drawers and a tiny box of books.

John didn't know why he bothered asking anymore as, like always, Hamish was sat in the middle of his bed with the chosen book in his hands. As per usual, the child was peering at the words, trying to decipher them. He really was a curious little boy. John thought that staring school next year couldn't come soon enough!

"What've we got for tonight?" He waiting for Hamish to shuffle over before he lay on half the small bed. The boy leant on his father's bad shoulder but John didn't tell him. "Mucky Mable?" He chuckled, "This is your favourite."

He looped an arm around his son and pulled him closer so his grey eyes could look up at the pictures. He smiled sadly at the eager child.

"This is the tale of Mucky Mable, who had no manners at the table." John began the book like always. Hamish himself could probably recite it off by heart by now but it was a good book that reminded the 3 year old of his table manners so John read it almost every night without fail.

By the end, Hamish's eyes were drifting closed and he yawned every few minutes. John gently shifted his son off his shoulder and rested the boy against the pillow. He tucked the blanket up to his chin before leaving a kiss on this hairline.

He smiled down at his son before leaving and switching on the light outside in the hallway to ensure he'd not be scared if he awoke in the night.

* * *

"Papa!"

That was the only warning John got before a little body jumped on him. He gasped as Hamish winded his father. John grabbed the quick boy to stop him escaping.

"Oi, you monkey!" He lifted the toddler up above him, being in the air was Hamish's favourite thing. "What you doing waking up papa on a Saturday!" He teased the boy to hide his actual tiredness.

"I'm hungry!" He cried in defence. The boy's laughter echoed around the room when John proceeded to tickle him. "Papa, no!"

John released him and watched as the troublemaker disappeared under the blanket next to him. He could see the lump moving around on the usually empty side of the bed. It was only a second later that a little head popped up by the pillow. The duvet covered his mouth and nose, only revealing his sparkling eyes and blond hair, static from rubbing against the blanket.

"What are you doing, Ishy?" He laughed, "I thought you were hungry, not sleepy."

Grey eyes shone as he shook his head dramatically. He made a humming sound to emphasise his point. He'd picked that up from his Daddy. John swallowed.

"What's up then, baby?" Hamish's daddy always scolded John for still calling him a baby when he was only a couple of years away from school. John ignored him though; Hamish would always be his baby even if nursery school loomed even closer now.

"Papa sleepy, Hamish sleepy too!" The young boy noticed his father enjoyed his bed.

"What if papa is hungry?" He lied with a slight smirk.

"Then I eat!" The blanket was heavy, still equipped for winter despite the heat, so it took a few moments for the child to free himself and toddle off the double bed. He smiled as he watched the figure disappear in the direction of the kitchen.

He sighed, knowing he'd have to get up. After all, Hamish can't quite reach the toaster.

* * *

Saturday was always a good day for John. It gave him time to spend with Hamish instead of leaving him in daycare for several hours. They usually went to the park together before picking up shopping for the next weeks worth of lunches and dinners.

Today was different.

They were walking towards their usual playground when John's mobile began to chime in his back pocket. His heart dropped when he saw the number.

"Hello," He answered quickly.

"John! Thank God, we reached you! There's been a huge traffic accident so we need your help!" The nurse from St Barts spoke rapidly, clearly in the middle of chaos. "Can you make it?"

John glanced down at his son, holding tightly to his hand, peering around unaware of the inevitable. The doctor sighed, "Sure, give me half an hour."

"Thank you so much! You're a life saver!" Literally, John thought with mild bitterness.

He hoisted Hamish onto his hip so he could speed walk to the daycare, just around the corner. Plus, he was now on the perfect level to talk with him.

"Ishy, there's been a problem at work and papa has to go." The boy's hand wrapped around his father's shirt material, "You'll be going to Ellie for a few hours, okay?"

Ellie was the sweet woman with wildly frizzy hair that ran the childcare centre. Hamish loved her but would have rather spent the day with his papa. Saturday was their special day together.

"Papa!" He cried out, unhappy. "but we going to park." He tried to remind his papa as though that could somehow change his mind.

"I know baby but it's only for a few hours while I work." He reassured the child as he pushed open the door to the centre. The woman on front door duty smiled kindly.

As he left, he looked over his shoulder to see Hamish watching him go with large watery eyes. Sometimes, John hated being a single parent.


	3. Chapter 3

The mild warmth of the day was beginning to grow into an evening chill when John was finally limping to get his baby boy from the child centre. The stressful day caused aching in his shoulder and a throbbing pain in his leg. He wished he had his cane with him but it was hidden down the side of his wardrobe, untouched in weeks.

He didn't blame the hospital for calling him in; it had been a mess when he arrived. Patients everywhere in desperate need for attention and more injured coming through the doors every second. They needed someone like John p- quick but attentively thorough. His military training coming into good use to see to as many people as he could.

There was no doubt that lives were saved again today but this wasn't rare in a hospital like Barts.

He could see the doors to the day centre and he hurried to get there. Guilt consumed him but, in reality, he wasn't at fault. He couldn't have left those people to die and neither could he just conjure up a partner to spend time with Hamish whenever he couldn't.

The doors opened and John saw Hamish waiting on the desk beside the door woman. He frowned. Had something happened?

"Hamish?" John asked. Exhaustion clear in his voice.

There weren't many kids about now as most had been picked up already. Hamish was one of the few left until this time.

"Papa!" The boy threw himself off the other chair behind the desk and bolted towards his papa at lightening speed.

"Hey, baby." He lifted him into a tight embrace. He turned to the woman, concerned, "Has everything been okay?"

"Yes! He just decided that he wanted to wait for you and nothing we said would change his mind. He was telling me all about his daddy. He's very proud." Her smile was gentle.

"How long has it been?"

"Probably about an hour."

Guilt swallowed him up, making his soul feel nasty and rotten. What kind of a father leaves his son for so long? He swallowed before pulling out his wallet.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it, Dr Watson." Ellie said as she entered into the foyer. "We heard about the accident. It's only right for us to watch this little monkey while you help people." She smiled, bopping the young boy on the nose.

"Are you sure? Thank you so much." He gushed before bidding the ladies a fair well and heading out onto the street.

He blinked slowly as exhaustion seeped into his muscles. At least they gave him Sunday off to recover.

* * *

Hamish watched his papa sleep. He was snoring heavily as he always did whenever he was truly out of it and his mouth hung open too. The man's eyelids twitched as he passed through the REM cycle.

The little boy snuggled under the blankets on the cold side of the bed. He'd woken up thirsty and, after a sip of the water bottle by his bed, he'd ventured off to find papa. As predicted, the man was sleeping so Hamish slipped in beside him without waking him.

The small boy felt back asleep within mere moments despite his father snoring beside him.

* * *

They both slept in until late on Sunday which was unusual but they'd both grown tired after a full week. John's eyes finally cracked open at 9:30 and he couldn't believe Hamish had let him sleep for so long. The little boy was playing with his favourite stuffed animal beside his father. He mumbled quietly while making the monkey leap across the blankets.

"Morning, Hamish." John yawned, while he rubbed his eyes, "What's monkey doing today?"

The blond boy squealed in excitement to see his father had awoken, "Monkey runs!" He made the brown stuffed animal run over his father's blanket covered stomach, "He runs from bad man."

"What bad man?" John leant his head as he inquired.

"From the dream." Hamish stated as he continued playing.

"You know that no bad men can get you here, Ishy. I'm here to stop them." John lifted the boy so they were looking into each other's grey eyes.

"Papa good at stopping bad man. Daddy told so." John always forgot how well Hamish spoke when they were alone. Around others he seemed to close up and almost recede in his ability.

"When did Daddy say that?" John frowned, he held Hamish's face gently to make sure the boy didn't start to loose concentration on the topic. He needed an answer from his son.

"In the dream." The boy answered truthfully.

"Okay, good boy." John places a kiss to his son's hairline.

Hamish settled down in the bed beside his father and rested his small head against the pillow while he pulled the blanket to cover his shoulders. Small hands fiddled with the toy. The boy blinked slowly, tears forming in his eyes.

"Ishy? What's wrong?" John, instantly concerned, turned in his side so he mirrored his son's position.

Grey eyes focused on the threading on the pure white pillowcase, "I miss Daddy." The boy's voice shook.

"Oh, baby." John said quietly as he pulled Hamish in his arms, "I miss Daddy too." He didn't know what to say. He wasn't great with this emotional stuff but he knew he had to comfort his son.

"When Daddy home?" He clung to his father.

"Ishy... Daddy isn't coming home." It broke his heart but he'd kept up the lie for too long now. Tears pricked in his eyes but he stayed strong for Hamish.

Hamish suddenly burst into tears. He shook as the emotion ripped through his tiny body. Guilt tore it's way into John's heart. He was a bad father.

"Where Daddy?"

"Come here, Ishy." John pulled the boy into his arms as he leant up against the headboard. He cradled him like he did when his son was so new and tiny, when they'd first gotten him. "Papa's here." He stroked his back and wiped his nose until the child didn't have any more tears to shed.


	4. Chapter 4

John was now desperate; this was verging on ridiculous. He held the child's fork in his hand and once again attempted the airplane method to little prevail. Hamish was probably a little too old to fall for that anyway.

"Come on, Hamish." John was on the edge of begging, "You used to love carrots."

"No! Yucky!" With folded arms, he declared. "Carrot belongs in poop-poop!" He laughed shrilly.

"No, you love them!" He tried to encourage the boy to eat his vegetables. He groaned and wanted to hit his head against a brick wall in frustration.

VVVVVRRRRBB VVVUUUURRRRR!

His mobile began ringing to the surface beside the kettle. He wanted to throw it out the window. Dumping down the fork, he dashed over and grabbed it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, John. It's Greg."

"PPPPAAAA PPPPPAAA! CARRRROTTS!"

"Greg? Is everything okay?" He asked over the sound of his child trying to run riot on his only day off.

Greg rarely called but they used be quite close friends before Hamish came and sucked up all of his spare time. They still exchanged the odd text here and there but nothing quite like the hours they used to spend in the pub together.

"Everything is good here but it sounds manic where you are!" The inspector chuckled knowingly. He'd met Hamish on a few occasions when John couldn't find childcare when he was helping out or when meeting up. He liked the child even if he insisted that the Doctor was going to spoil him.

"Yeah, Sunday morning fun!" His voice near a cry. "Hamish, please get off the table. Tables are for glasses."

"Not for asses." Lestrade finished the rhyme over the phone knowing that the boy couldn't hear.

"Exactly, Greg. Anyway, what can I do for you?"

The policeman suddenly became slightly more embarrassed, "I need to ask a favour... There's been an accident but we can't get any medical examiners on site..."

"So you want me to come and check it out?" John guessed.

"If you don't mind..." John could imagine Greg rubbing his neck in embarrassment. He hated having to call on other people to do jobs for him. Although, the ex-soldier was pretty sure that he would be the officer's last option since John was the only person he trusted outside of the force.

"Not a problem... But..." He let the sentence hang for a moment.

"Oh no, is there a condition?" The panic could he heard in his voice. He didn't have time for elaborate conditions.

"Only one. You'll have to act as free childcare when I look over the scene. I can't keep leaving Hamish at the centre so you just have to keep him occupied in one of the cars or something." John stated his proposal.

There was a sigh of relief, "That's all? Of course I'll watch for the little monster! He loves spending time with uncle Greg!"

"Only because you give him sweets!" John argued but couldn't help laughing. "We'll be there in 20 minutes."

* * *

"Uncle Greg!" The boy wiggled until John set him on the floor where he ran to the police officer. He ignored all the other uniformed people and knew exactly who to run towards. It made John's heart swell slightly.

"Hey there, Hamish! Miss me?" He chuckled while scooping the boy into a tight hug. He loved the boy as though he really was his nephew. His deep grey eyes and blond hair was particularly adorable.

Small arms wrapped around the detective inspector's neck as tight as they could manage, "Yes! Papa miss you too!" He revealed, remembering what his father had said on the journey over to the scene of the crime.

John's laugh echoed around the street and Greg grinned at him, "I knew your old man was a big softie!" He stage-whispered to the boy whilst tickling him, eliciting giggles.

"Hey, that's not fair!" John put on his most intimidating face which his friend and son merely laughed at. "Okay, Ishy, you behave for uncle Greg while Papa goes to help for a minute, okay?"

The boy nodded eagerly, he knew that his uncle Greg kept sweets and goodies stashed in his police car.

"Okay, I'll be back in five." John called as he ducked under the crime scene tape and strode towards the accident."

"Oh damn," Greg muttered once John was gone, "I forgot to warn him... Oh well, he'll be okay, right Hamish?"


	5. Chapter 5

So far, the main method of murder appeared to be asphyxiation as her lips were tinged blue and bruises were forming around the neck. John quickly concluded that she'd be strangled to death within the last five hours. He continued his checks though, like any professional doctor would. He didn't want to overlook something important.

"She was strangled to death by her son while he was high." A voice spoke. "Obviously, there'd been animosity between them for months but she was shocked when he actually went for her..." The last word dragged on.

John peered up to where a tall man was staring at the body like she held the secret to eternal life. His dark curls bounced when he moved. The coat he wore was long and thick, prepared for the upcoming chilly season.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The stranger asked, "Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Excuse you?" John stood, only then realising how much shorter than the man he actually was. He raked his eyes up and down the handsome man's slim figure. He tried to ignore his brain when it began musing on how attractive the man was. This wasn't the time.

He shot off with a mere glance at the Doctor. His smirk was obnoxious.

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid." He shot off with a mere glance at the Doctor. His smirk was obnoxious.

"That's incredible."

"That's not usually what people say." He noted in surprise.

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

John laughed, truly laughing like he hasn't in months. Eventually, the tall man joined in as John's laugh was infectious and they were stood chuckling together like old friends. Members of the force glanced over at them like they were possessed. Nobody usually chose to laugh with Sherlock.

"John." The doctor said while holding out a hand.

"Sherlock." He shook.

"Sherlock? That's a rare name." John stated.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Now, don't you have your dog to return to?" The detective smirked and glanced around the scene.

The doctor blinked in confusion, "My dog?"

"Yes, John. There's small blond hairs littering your jacket so your dog is probably at home waiting for you."

The short man laughed but began to back away anyway, "I don't have a dog but I do need to go. Maybe I'll catch you later." He smiled as he left the tall man stood alone with the body. He'd never met a police detective like that before but John didn't exactly make a habit of befriending the whole police force.

* * *

"That policeman was right." John spoke as he opened the passenger door to the police car.

"Which policeman?" Greg murmured absently while trying to manipulate the smart phone from the preschooler's fingers. His eyes widened in panic when the contacts popped up.

John slid the phone from his son's grip with practiced ease, "Sherlock."

"Oh," He stuffed his mobile back into his trousers pocket where it would be safe from little fingers, "Sherlock isn't a police officer. He's a consulting detective."

"But you guys don't consult with amateurs." He stated in confusion.

He chuckled, "Sherlock isn't an amateur. He's the opposite."

John didn't quite understand what Lestrade meant by that but he didn't bother asking. It wasn't as though he'd ever see the strange man ever again.

John gave Greg his medical report before plucking his son from the car and beginning the walk back to his small flat on the outskirts. Hamish spoke almost the whole time, telling his father about what he'd done with Greg and how many sweets he'd consumed in the 45 minutes John was absent.

* * *

"Good morning, Dr Watson!" The nurse chirped happily.

John cringed as he pulled on his white coat and threw his walking shoes into his locker. He didn't understand how Charlie always managed to maintain a positive outlook when her days were so long and she worked so hard.

"Morning, Charlie." He grumbled.

"Rough night?" Sympathy shone in her features. Despite being single and childless, Charlie did seem to understand his groans and gripes. He was lucky to have her as an accomplice throughout the long days.

"Hamish was restless and kept asking after his Daddy." He tried not to show the tears that were collecting in his grey eyes. He already had a reputation for being a big softie, he didn't need to make it worse.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Doc." She murmured while pulling John into a tight hug. "It must be hard to explain especially since he's so young." Charlie had never met Hamish but spoke fondly of him as though they were related, "If you ever need any help, I make excellent childcare." Her eyes sparkled mischievously and John made a mental note never to leave a minor under her responsibility. She was bound to cause trouble.

"Thanks, Charlie." He answered genuinely as they let go and began to go about their duties


	6. Chapter 6

John checked the clipboard and scanned the information.

Male, early thirties, minor burns from chemical explosion.

The doctor raised his eyebrows at the information. It wasn't everyday that they got a chemical accident in through the doors of St Barts. Pretty rarely actually... It wasn't as though the general public were allowed to just be playing around with dangerous chemicals all the time.

John sighed and prayed it would be a simple process. He wasn't in the right mood for complex procedures and so far today he'd been lucky.

"So, Mr Holmes..." He murmured as he opened the door to the small examination room.

"Call me Sherlock." The voice made John freeze.

"Sherlock?" The Doctor blanched, "What-When... What did you do?!"

The tall man smirked and shrugged nonchalantly, "I had a problem with an experiment." He mumbled a little. John got the vibe that the man was trying to show off a little... He really looked a state.

The tips of the detective's dark curls were singed and black marks from burnt objects were smudged across his face. His suit was ruffled and he looked as though he hadn't slept in even longer than John!

"Why where you playing with chemicals?!" John cried as he began to search through the drawers for the equipment he needed to deal with the irritated skin.

"I wasn't playing..." He pouted as he stropped. "I was conducting a scientific experiment."

* * *

The animals littered the small living room floor as though there'd been an explosion in the nearby zoo. They were roughly organised into loose prides of horse-like creatures and cat-like creatures, even if the actual animals weren't from the same species. Hamish's collect of toy animals had merely grown since the moment of the child's birth; it had all started with a panda figure then a lion then a horse and cow with some zebras too. Hamish's little menagerie paid no heed to the laws of the food-chain or predictor-pray dynamics. Every animal was best friends with the next.

John's tired eyes found the energy to widen when he stepped into the tiny room to see barely any floor space. Hamish was placed in the middle of the chaos with his fingers wrapped around two animals: a shark and a small chicken. The child mumbled out words, pretending that the animals were communicating with each other.

"Ishy, it's a mess." The room was only small which made the mess look significantly worse.

John couldn't afford any bigger that a tiny two bedroom flat on the very edge of London. His bedroom was more suited to a single bed and Hamish, the poor soul, had more of a broom cupboard than a bedroom. The kitchen, diner/living room was all the living space they had but Hamish always managed to take over every surface.

The boy's grey eyes peered up at his father, "Hospal was busy." His mispronounced words pulled at the heartstrings of the man.

"Very busy. A strange man came in because he had burnt himself on chemicals."

"Stranger danger." The child added quietly.

"Papa knew him but he is not like most normal people. He is very smart, like you Ishy. You're a clever boy." Job grinned when his son blushed but beamed with pride.

"Papa clever doctor."

"No!" John laughed, "I'm pretty useless."

Hamish stood and ran to his father, wrapping his arms around the man's neck. Small finger clung tightly to the fabric of John's oatmeal coloured, knitted jumper.

"Dinner?" The boy asked, oblivious that it was social protocol for him to comfort the doctor and disagree with the statement.

"Sure, Ishy." He ruffled the boy's blond hair, "What do you fancy?"

* * *

"What did Monkey do after that?" John asked, genuinely interested in the pretend activities that his son designed for his stuffed toy. It was a regular occurrence that they would spend dinner time discussing what this toy had decided to do throughout the day while they were at work and the play centre.

"He hided in trees!" The small boy peeked up at the ceiling as though he expected to see his monkey toy hanging from the imaginary canopy above them.

"Monkeys like the trees. Their tails are good for holding on tight." John answered, easily playing into his child's fantasy world. It was much nicer than the real world anyway.

Hamish stared at the toy like he was studying him. The monkey was sat on the only spare chair atop a small stack of books to ensure his head would peep over the edge of the table.

"Monkey don't like trees. They high."

"Since when haven't you liked heights?" John asked with a spoonful of spaghetti hoops inches from his open mouth. His forehead creased in concern. His child should have no reason to dislike heights especially not at his age.

The small boy splat his fork into the tomato sauce covering the hoops, "Daddy didn't like high."

John sighed and rubbed his face, "No, Daddy didn't like heights."

The doctor was desperately hoping that his son wouldn't develop all the fears or habits of his father. He'd only jut began to heal and seeing those traits in his son would rip him apart.


	7. Chapter 7

Hamish playing with play dough on the little coffee table as John sat down with a cup of tea and flicked on the news. He sipped the hot liquid carefully.

The London news hadn't changed over the last week or so. The headlines were all focused on these somehow linked suicides. Greg was sat at the table with his sergeant beside him; John had never asked her name. The doctor felt bad for them as he certainly wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of all the questions from the media. But, as usual, his friend dealt with it with the utmost professionalism.

"Papa, I've made flower." Hamish lifted the crude sculpture.

"Good job, Hamish." John praised with a smile with warmth in his tone.

"I make papa." The young boy told his father while his hands began to squish the play dough back into a ball. His mouth turned into a scowl as he concentrated.

John watched him for a moment before his eyes drifted back to the news report. Greg was still heroically jousting with the media and flashing cameras. The man was speaking about how people can keep themselves safe. John chuckled a little as he watched Greg drip with sarcasm before heavily back tracking.

The police officer's mobile vibrated on the table and Greg picked it up to check it. He let out a sigh before addressing the people gathered in the room. John didn't know what was happening as Hamish had once again captured his attention.

"Papa," He held out the model in all its misshapen glory. The boy jumped up and ran the short distance to his father, proudly displaying his masterpiece.

"Wow, Ishy! This is amazing!" With gentle fingers, he picked up the play dough man and inspected it carefully.

The boy beamed with pride before running off to entertain himself with something else. Hamish couldn't sit still for any period of time but John wouldn't change him for the world.

* * *

"John?" The voice asked when John managed to bring the phone to his ear. The doctor yawned, his eyes still firmly shut.

"Mmmhh?"

There was a hesitant pause,"...Did I wake you?" Greg's voice crackled through. The sound of movement echoed across the line, clearly this Saturday morning was particularly chaotic in Scotland Yard.

"Hm? No," He mumbled, obviously half asleep and obviously lying, "Not at all."

"Good." He decided to ignore John's lie, "I need your help."

"What with?" He still was dangling dangerously on the edge of unconsciousness. He blinked in an attempt to flee the sleepiness.

"Sherlock is checking out a crime scene..." The inspector left it trailing like he expected John to fill in the blanks.

"And?" It was too early to fill in any blanks.

"He is refusing to work with any of the medical examiners but did happen to name drop a certain doctor on the way." The hint was heavy but John's brain wasn't working at this time In the morning.

"That's nice for that guy. Thanks for telling me."

"John, you're the guy."

"Oh."

* * *

"Thank you so much for that." Greg murmured as they wandered away from the bloody crime scene. John was more than pleased to finally pull his examination gloves off. After touching that, even his clean hands felt tainted with blood.

John shrugged, "It was no problem. I don't see why Sherlock won't work with Anderson or anyone else." He gripped his cane tightly. Today had been a cane day. "They're all perfectly qualified."

"He thinks they're idiots." Lestrade explained easily as he flicked through the notes he'd gathered from the scene.

"Oh yeah? And what does that make me?" He laughed before patting the police officer on the shoulder and limping off towards the main road to hail a cab. He wasn't walking back to the flat when his leg was in the state it is.

Greg frowned slightly as he watch his friend leave. He scratched the top of his grey hair, "What does that make you indeed..."


	8. Chapter 8

The shrill of the doorbell ripped the doctor from his sleep in a blind panic. His years of service had definitely changed him. His heart was racing and an instant sweat had broken out across his skin. He swallowed to slow himself down.

He managed to pull himself out of bed at the demand of the bell. It was still ring like a child was playing with it. The doctor grumbled as he hobbled towards the door, this better be important and if Hamish was awake then he'd literally kill someone- most likely the person at the door.

"Yes?" He hissed sourly before he'd even opened the door fully. The doctor usually prided himself on his good manners and caring quality but at 3am anyone would be grouchy.

The visitor strode into the house with a steady stream of words falling from his lips like smoke. The homeowner had to snap himself out of his sleepy daze to understand why someone was entering his home.

It was Sherlock, the tall, clever detective from Lestrade's crime scene earlier today. The acquaintance found his way to the kitchen easily and began pulling mugs down from the cupboards and setting them down in the work surface. His slim fingers flicked on the kettle.

The patting of feet made the young man freeze and his cool eyes widen. His words stopped flowing as all senses moved to the sudden new addition to the room.

"You have a child." His eyes scanned the room. Seemingly cataloging useless pieces of information. "How did I not realise?"

The ex-soldier shrugged before leaning down to pick Hamish up. The small boy was disheveled from sleep and was rubbing his tired eyes. The doctor settled his son against his hip. His small hands held on tightly.

The detective turned and his sharp scrutiny was instantly on the small human. His eyes studied the young boy as though he was a corpse at a crime scene.

"You thought he was a dog." John chuckled, resting his cheek against the top of the boy's bright blond hair.

"Where's his mother?"

"Lots of people don't have mummy's." The quiet voice broke over the tense silence. Even when John and Sherlock couldn't find the words, the young boy could.

There was a brief second when Sherlock's eyes scanned John again, this time clearly selecting some specific details from his body and face. An acute line formed between his brows. He'd seen John's bisexual from the moment they first met but now he knew he must have missed other important facts if he'd overlooked the boy.

John seemed to hold his son closer to his chest, almost protectively, "Why are you here, Sherlock? What do you want?"

"His father?" Sherlock asked, his tone was tense.

"Sherlock." John hissed, darkly. "I think it'd be best for you to leave now." Hamish had buried his face into his father's shoulder, upset at the detective's questions over his Daddy.

Sherlock looked baffled at John's insistence that he left. He opened his mouth with a comeback ready on the tip of his sharp tongue but John beat him there.

"No, Sherlock." He led him towards the door, "I'll see you some other time. Please do not come here and upset my son ever again."

He gave the taller man a sudden shove sending him out onto the cold corridor.

The detective peered up at the dull door with a sigh. He wasn't going to test John and push his boundaries; he already trusted the doctor too much. He turned and slumped back towards the dark outside world.

* * *

"Papa, who is the man?" Hamish dared to ask once John carried him back towards his small room.

The doctor sighed, "It's Sherlock. He helps Uncle Greg sometimes."

The small boy seemed confused but allowed the doctor to tuck him under the blankets, "Why does he want Daddy?" Scared eyes were pinned to his father.

"Lots of children have two parents, Ishy. You only have one now so he asks where your Daddy is."

The boy's voice is whisper soft, "But you said Daddy not coming home."

"That's right, Baby." He kiss his son's forehead, "It's just me and you now."


	9. Chapter 9

The horns blared loudly as exhaust fumes flooded the streets. John couldn't help but cough when the bus he was walking alongside revved its engine impatiently. The vehicles were at a standstill due to the heavy traffic up ahead and, consequently, the pavements were also a solid mass of human. John sighed under his breath as he was once again shoved in another direction.

Chaos ruled the streets of London... As per usual.

It would usually only take John another 15 minutes to walk to work from here but at the pace he was making it'd probably be double that time. The unique feeling of claustrophobia settle over the small man. He pushed on regardless.

"I want to apologise." The voice made him jump.

"Sherlock?" He spluttered out, shocked.

"Do you accept the apology?" He didn't look down at the doctor, rather he was peering over the heads of the business people.

"Why are you here?" He huffed out, making a tactical move and elbowing the suit to the right of him. The bodies surged forward in an impatient push from behind. John got pushed into the woman in front of him. He hadn't been this close to a lady in years by choice.

The tall detective, seemingly strolling along unaffected by the mania around him, sighed and finally peered down at the medical professional," That's what people do to advance a friendship."

He stumbled forward, "A friendship?"

"Yes, so do you accept?"

Unable to find the peace of mind to have a conversation, John merely nodded swiftly and grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

It was only a few seconds later that John spoke to the man again, "You really are bizarre, you realise that?" He looked up, the detective was gone. Apparently disappearing off the face of the earth. He shrugged and continued pushing forward, "Suit yourself."

Immediately afterward, John got elbowed in the face.

* * *

It was two days later that John next heard from the bizarre acquaintance, it happened when his doorbell rang out unexpectedly.

Hamish peered up from where he was colouring at the squished table but quickly dismissed it and continued. John got up slowly, his leg throbbing with each tiny movement, and hobbled across to the door.

For some reason, he wasn't particularly surprised to see the dark haired manic in his doorway. John got the feeling that the man rarely pre-announced his arrivals.

The man's eyes were glued to the mobile in his hand. The other hand was hanging down by his side, a white carrier bag in his grip. He looked pretty immersed in whatever was going on inside the small device and John shook his head while sighing. He rested against the doorframe to relieve the weight off his leg. He waited impatiently.

He was about to protest Sherlock's silence when the man lifted the bag until is was at John's chest height. It remained there for a couple more seconds.

"I brought Chinese." Sherlock murmured to his phone, distractedly.

John could smell it, especially when it was held so close to his face, and it was making his empty stomach rumble loudly. He and Hamish hadn't yet eaten as John was indecisive about what to serve.

The doctor stepped aside and the tall man glided in, heading straight for the kitchen, as though he'd lived here his whole life. He navigated his way without tripping or walking into walls even with his head focused on the screen.

John followed him into the kitchen and Sherlock placed the bag atop the table, on the opposite side from where Hamish was colouring. The small boy peered up at the detective with a frown; he remembered the man from the night he turned up at their flat and upset both him and his papa.

It was only now that Sherlock slipped the mobile into his Belstaff pocket that he stared straight back down at the boy with curious eyes.

Despite his attention being on Hamish, the tall man spoke to John. "I brought some for..." He gestured at Hamish, "For the child." He stood awkwardly, a safe distance from the young boy.

"I is Hamish." The boy replied defiantly. His fingers gripping the moss green crayon in a vice-hold.

He raised an eyebrow at the boy, "I know you are. I am Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world."

The boy stared at him blankly before suddenly returning to his colouring, ignoring Sherlock's self given status.

Ego bruised, Sherlock turned back towards the doctor in a kind of search of reassurance. His eyes searched the man's face.

John couldn't help but chuckle, it was more than clear that Sherlock really hadn't spent all that much time around children. His awkwardness severely increased around the little humans and John though it was adorable.

"Sorry, Sherlock. You've got to learn that kids really don't recognise status. The bloody queen could be sat there and he'd just offer her a crayon so don't take it personally." The doctor chuckled, dipping the volume of his voice on the swear word since little ears were present, before grabbing the take away food and bringing out plates.

Despite John's reassurance, Sherlock couldn't help but feel as though he needed to impress the child and get Hamish to actually like him; it seemed like an impossible task since the detective couldn't even manage that with most adults. He peered down at the mysterious creature and frowned. He certainly hoped he didn't require Hamish's approval to spend more time with the doctor.


	10. Chapter 10

The doctor, slightly tipsy, hushed his own laugh as it burst from his lips. The beer was swaying precariously in the man's tanned, ringless fingers of his left hand.

Sherlock sat at one end of the sofa and John was at the other. The detective was sat in a more formal and conventional way with his legs facing forward and feet planted with glue to the floor. John, urged into relaxation by the alcohol, was turned at a minor angle to face his visitor. His leg was folded on the sofa since the beer had eased off the reminder of his psychosomatic injury.

John couldn't hold in the giggles even though Hamish had only just finally drifted off to the land of nod. He tried to muffle the sound.

"So she actually did it?" The doctor asked, amused by Sherlock's tale.

The detective give a look before snorting, "Of course. I said from the beginning she did."

"But that was pretty much proven when she..."

He nodded, "Yes, when she wore her dirty underwear on her head and ran through the library..." There was a certain silence that always comes after a good story had been shared.

"I can't believe it." John sighed, his sides aching from the almost constant laughter over the last hour. "Some people will do anything to get away with murder."

Sherlock stayed late into the night. The detective did most of the talking but John didn't particularly mind; he was just pleased to have company again. He'd missed spending late nights whiling away the hours with another soul. Of course he loved Hamish but there wasn't much articulate conversation to be had there. Just spending an evening with another adult was exactly what he needed.

When John closed the front door after his guest finally left he couldn't stop smiling. He hadn't felt this relaxed and cheerful in months... Well, to be exact 10 months and 2 weeks.

Not since Richard had died.

* * *

"Sherlock?" The Detective Inspector asked, a deep line of confusion carved into the space between his brows. "What are you reading?" His tone rose as his curiosity spiked. Sherlock's nose was buried in the book. Lestrade had no idea how long the man had been sat in his office but he'd made steady progress on the book.

Childcare for dummies

"Childcare?!" Lestrade scoffed, "Trust me when I say that you're not cut out for children, Sherlock. They'd tear you apart."

There was an awkward cough, "I'm aware..."

"Wait? When have you been hanging around with kids? You hate everyone let alone children!" The shorter man exclaimed, trying to draw Sherlock's eyes off the text on the page.

The detective sighed in his usual pretentious manner, "I haven't yet... But Hamish might be a problem."

There was a brief silence as the DI was shocked and reeling, "Hamish? Like Hamish Watson? Why are you lurking around him?" The older man seemed to physically prickle at the mention of his friend's child. He didn't want someone like Sherlock crashing in and upsetting the boy.

"I've been spending time with John but I am not aware of how to behave around his child." The consulting detective admitted quietly.

"I guess that's not all too... Weird."


	11. Chapter 11

"So, why do you need me to come with you again?" John asked, straightening his tie nervously. The taxi lurched through the traffic on the way to the fancy restaurant. Summer was practically over so they chose not to walk.

Sherlock peered across at the smaller man, "The suspect is dining here tonight. I need to get in close to observe and I couldn't go alone without drawing attention to myself." He spoke quickly.

John nodded but Sherlock's words didn't go much to easing his tension. If this was a real case then he didn't want to do something wrong or mess up. It'd been years since he had done any sort of covert operation. Basically since he was invalided from the army. He shifted on the leather seat.

Sherlock was peering out of the rain speckled window, completely oblivious to John's discomfort. Outside it was dark, night had fallen a couple of hours ago, the lampposts cast an orange glow on the streets as the taxi rushed past. The detective stared unseeingly into the world beyond the window.

* * *

The restaurant was fancy, a true 5 star affair... So much so, John wouldn't usually even be able to afford the air inside. Sherlock had assured him that his government big brother had something to do with getting a place at such an establishment. He must have pulled some strings.

The cab pulled up outside and Sherlock was out in mere milliseconds so he could sprint around to hold John's door for him. It was a strange gesture but John thought nothing of it- more entranced by the shear size of the restaurant. It was an old London red brick building but with a Morden twist of huge windows stretching up several floors. John's jaw was slack as he peered up to the top of the building.

"Do you like it?" Sherlock inquired, casually. His eyes focused on the smaller man.

"It's amazing, Sherlock." John murmured sincerely.

"Let's go." The detective grabbed John's hand to haul him towards the entrance of the building.

* * *

The waiter gave them their menus before leaving to give them time to deliberate. John's grey eyes immediately began scanning the room around them with intent.

"So, who are we looking for?" He whispered, eyes still roaming.

"Wha-?" Sherlock suddenly remembered his ploy and played along, "Oh, Don't worry, John. I specifically chose this table as I knew I'd be able to survey the area. You are just acting as an excuse for me to be here. I would stand out if I were sitting here alone."

"So you don't need me to help?"

Sherlock couldn't tell if John was upset or not so he assumed not.

"Just enjoy yourself!" Sherlock grinned.

* * *

His lips were permanently curled into a smile, Sherlock's mouth was aching as a result. The detective wasn't accustomed to grinning at people all that often but tonight he couldn't really resist. Just watching John talking about his son was making him happy.

"But I don't know. He's a good kid really. What about you? Do you have kids?" John asked after a lengthy monologue. He'd grown tired of the sound of his own voice, something Sherlock would never experience.

Sherlock snapped out of staring and smiling so he could actually answer, "I'd never really thought much about it. I'd always assumed I'd have to spend years just struggling to find someone to be with let alone have a child."

John nodded thoughtfully, "I knew the feeling."

* * *

It was only when they were both back in the taxi and shuttling back to John's small flat to relieve the babysitter, Greg, that John suddenly remember the whole reason they'd headed out there in the first place. He felt kind of guilty that he'd been selfish and hasn't helped Sherlock more.

"Did you find the person you were looking for?"

Sherlock gave him a soft smile before turning back towards the window and muttering, "I certainly did find him."

John thought the tall man's answer was cryptic but he'd grown used to all sorts of bizarre behaviours from Sherlock, especially since they'd been hanging out at least twice a week now. As they'd grown closer John had been adjusting again to having someone close by.

It'd been a while since Richard had to leave but everyday since he'd felt a bitter loneliness consuming him. Sherlock, with his quick wit and sarcasm, had acted as a light against the eternal darkness.

At one dark point, it was only Hamish that made his life worth living. Now, he could say that maybe Sherlock also made each day better.

Lost in his thoughts, John didn't notice the plethora of times Sherlock ducked his head and peaked at the other man through his hair like a shy school child. He wanted to see inside John's head to know if his feels would be retuned.


	12. Chapter 12

The peak of summer was waning. A hoard of auburn and brown colours clung to the branches on large trees or to the cement of the pavement. Leaves were dropping from their temporary homes- no longer functional for photosynthesis with the absence of chloroplasts. John had grown to dislike this time of year as when the first browning leaf gave up its stronghold, a bitter seed sprouted within him.

Anniversaries of deaths are never pleasant even in the best of cases.

As it got later in the year, John became more isolated and shut himself away from almost everyone. Only a select few were granted the honour of access to both him and Hamish as the date approached rapidly.

Sherlock, unfortunately for the detective, had not quite earned himself a place on that list (perhaps John was afraid of being judged). The only person Sherlock knew who got texts back from the elusive doctor was the Detective Inspector. He pretended he wasn't jealous but he was constantly asking Lestrade about the small doctor.

"Have you heard from John today?" Sherlock asked, clambering under the yellow crime tape and taking his first glance of the latest murderer scene.

Greg fought to not roll his eyes as Sherlock was just being concerned for his crush. The police man sighed as he followed the consulting detective over to where the man somehow knew where the body was.

"He's fine. Hamish is fine. They've been really busy." He lied for John, as he did on an regular

basis.

"He still won't answer my messages." Sherlock didn't notice how much he sounded like a whining toddler. "How can I know if everything is okay?"

"Look, he is still going to work, still caring for Hamish. He is going through a hard patch which makes anything beyond that exhausting to him. Give him a month or so and he'll be back to normal." He reassured. Lestrade really didn't want Sherlock jumping him in the middle of the street.

He hoped John would be back to normal soon anyway. The last time he'd had been in such a position, Richard had died. The time before that was when he'd been invalided home from Afghanistan himself but thankfully, Hamish came along not too much later. In reality, Lestrade didn't know how long this would last.

"I miss him." The ebony haired man muttered to himself as he lowered down to deduce the cause of death and murderer.

Greg watched him work, a lump forming in his throat. He missed John too.

* * *

It was November and nearly a month since he'd heard a peep from John when there was a knock at the door of 221B. For some reason, hope sprang forward as he scrambled to the door.

His hope crumbled when he opened the door to see Mycroft stood there with customary umbrella and expensive suit. He seemed dissatisfied with Sherlock's lack of composure. He stepped around his brother and entered the flat. He was reminded why he was worried when Sherlock didn't even protest.

"Still pining, baby brother?" He asked, lowering himself into the detective's chair. He peered at Sherlock with his deep eyes, deducing every detail his cameras had overlooked. He sniffed before brushing dust of the leg of his dustless suit. "I've never seen you so lost over another actual living human."

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he dropped himself down into the red chair opposite.

"Sherlock, you'll make yourself ill." He wanted to protect the other man. It wasn't the first time people had elected to avoid Sherlock Holmes. You'd think he would have grown used to it.

"He liked me, Mycroft. He was the only person that chose to have me in his company." He scowled, "It makes no sense!"

"People don't make sense, Sherlock. They have emotions." He spoke it like a dirty word. "It's not worth it."

Was this true? Was John not worth it?


	13. Chapter 13

-11 November-

The streets were crowded and there was a higher ratio of police officers to civilian compared to normal due to the occasion. People wore Help For Heroes shirts and jumpers or some ex-soldiers had even pulled on their old gear. Sherlock pushed forward, eager to get closer to the Cenotaph.

He was surprised when he managed to find an empty spot right at the railing that separated the crowd from the organised military personnel. Sherlock tapped his foot impatient for the service to start.

He glanced to the left, only to see John Watson standing a couple of meters further down the railing. Immediately and without thought, he rushed over to his friend just in time for the service to begin. He pushed his way in beside him just as John and all the military personnel saluted. The Doctor was in his full uniform from Afghanistan. Sherlock was shocked but knew he shouldn't be.

The service started and the Consulting Detective focused on what was happening in front of the Cenotaph.

* * *

The last notes of the music stopped, there was a few moments of reflective silence before people began to disburse out. John stayed stock still, eyes glued to the wreath of poppies. A tear had left a glimmering trail in the stark light of the cold day. Sherlock panicked, unsure that he'd be able to live up to social convention.

He bent slightly to be at eye level with the short man, "Are you okay?"

John breathed, everything wound up within him realised slowly. He peered up at his friend, actually pleased to see him.

"Yeah, I think I-" His face crumbled as he fought to stop himself sobbing.

Sherlock, despite the awkward person he is, leant forward and pulled John close to him. He felt John wrap his arms around the detective proving it wasn't the wrong move. The doctor was crying against his shoulder but he found that he didn't mind. It was just glad to be soothing the man.

When people stared at a man sobbing into another man's arms, Sherlock shot them a murderous look that'd he'd perfected over the years. They stayed stationary for quite some time so the crowds had disbursed by the time John was finally ready to make a move from the cenotaph.

They walked in silence, both naturally gravitating closer together, as they made their way instinctively in the direction of John's flat. Their footsteps fell in time and made a rhythmic beat against the cement. John's eyes were glued to his feet while Sherlock glanced around pretending not to be completely absorbed in John.

They were nearly the whole way to the flat when John spoke out of the blue, "I'm sorry I was such a mess back there..." He kept his eyes down.

Sherlock shrugged, hoping to keep the attention off John, "It's to be expected. It's not uncommon for military personnel to find days like this particularly challenging due to all they've experienced and-"

"It's not just that..." John stopped and peered up at the detective. He steeled his nerves and admitted what he'd hidden from the man for months, "I lost someone, Sherlock. He was so close to coming home, only a few weeks." Tears formed in his grey eyes, "He got shot and they tried to help him but it wasn't much use. He died with the medic on the way back to base."

"What was his name?" Sherlock asked even though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. He took a couple of steps forward to encourage the ex-army Doctor to keep moving.

John looked surprised that he'd asked, "Richard."

"And he's Hamish's father?"

John nodded and a great sadness pulled at him. It weighed him down like sandbags, "It was only a year after I was sent home that we decided to have Hamish and I'm so grateful we did. I don't know what I would have done last year if I didn't have that monkey to keep me occupied."

For a moment Sherlock remained silent, thinking. John gave Hamish a life but Hamish also gave his father life.


	14. Chapter 14

The flat was cold and silent when they had finally paced the streets enough to make it all the way back. Sherlock, used to running the alleys of London, didn't mind but he did wonder if this was something John did daily or if he was merely in a walking mood. The thing that scared Sherlock the most was that he knew he could deduce it but he really didn't want to; talking to John in person and not snooping around his private life suddenly held some sort of value for the detective.

Perhaps this is what personal growth feels like? Sherlock found himself musing.

John led him through to the small living room before the soldier left to change out of his uniform. Sherlock desperately hoped he wasn't overstepping his welcome since John really wasn't cheery. One thing over shone that, Sherlock was in John's flat again! The man hadn't completely rejected him from his life. He hadn't turned his back on their relationship and everything they'd started to build.

Sherlock's eyes took in every detail of the room greedily. He wanted the space committed to memory just in case he was to be excluded from John's life for another period in the future. The small box room was really inadequate to hold the father and son especially since most of Hamish's toys were scattered around.

There were steps coming closer but they took a turn into the kitchen. The temptation to follow was consuming for someone with a curiosity like Sherlock's but he remained rooted to his seat that John had presented for him. The kettle in the room behind his back clicked on and it made a racket as it boiled.

There was a clink of china against the work surface and cupboards being swiftly opened and closed. The bubbling stopped and the sound of trickling water echoed from the kitchen. Sherlock waited patiently.

John stepped around the corner a few seconds later with his hands laden with a tray. He balanced it easily until he reached the small coffee table where he set it down.

The soldier then collapsed beside the detective, letting out a heavy breath as the sofa took his weight. The cushion of the sofa let out a puff of air.

The silence was crisp. John's grey eyes flittered over the other man momentarily before shuffling forward to pour out the tea into the mug. He was glad that the movement forward allowed him to avoid eye contact with the kind Holmes. He fiddled around with the pots for longer than necessary. Sherlock leant forward and scooped up his tea. He could feel the air around them.

"Are you okay?" John finally asked, glancing over his shoulder for barely a second.

Shocked, Sherlock recoiled, "Me?"

The army doctor scratched at his arm self consciously, "Yeah, you're not... Mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

There was a loud noise outside as a large truck thundered down the small street down in front of the small block of flats. The noise easily breached the thin walls. He could feel himself swallow.

John changed the subject swiftly, "I haven't seen you in months. How has detective work been going?"

"I don't doubt you've had Lestrade keeping tabs on me since day one." He didn't mean for it to sound so bitter but an apparent resentment rose to the surface.

Guilty, John peered at the carpet, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know I... I know I shut you out but i wasn't in any state to be going out or anything." He admitted.

"John, it's okay." The tall man breathed, relaxing his shoulders. It really wasn't John's fault. He'd just felt angry for being shut out. "Do you need to talk about it?" He didn't know what he was doing but Mrs Hudson had asked this of him enough times.

There was a tense silence.

"Yes, I think I do."


	15. Chapter 15

"It was over a year since I'd returned from Afghanistan and we decided to have Hamish since Richard would be finishing too in a few months. Hamish arrived on time thanks to the surrogate but things got complicated with Richard. It's hard to explain but things got nasty out there so they had to extend his deployment another year. We were lucky we still got him home every few months because there was always the risk of him not being allowed to leave... He was far more important over there then me." He gave a weak chuckle, "Anyway, it was about 4 months before he was coming home for good when it actually happened. It was- it was a car bomb." John raised his shaking hand to cover his lips.

His grey eyes turned into leaking oceans. He coughed, clearing his throat.

"The worst thing is... He volunteered to go. One of the soldiers was sick so Richard stepped up and offered to take the patrol. It's just so stupid. He'd do anything for anyone." Anger pierced him. "He would have still been here. Still alive."

The tears were silent. John stared into the corner as they fell almost as though he wasn't even aware of their existence. Sherlock's eyes, however, were glued to these tears, foreign objects on a brave man's face.

"I'm sorry." The detective's voice rose just enough to match the intensity of the silence. "I'm sorry." He pulled John into him again for the second time in a day and gently held him. He knew John needed security and protection right now and he was going to try his damnedest to offer that.

There was a sniffle from the smaller man and Sherlock released him, "Last year... It was different. I was still grieving so I didn't -couldn't- do what I did this year. I wasn't strong enough to do it so this year was the first time since I'd started to feel more stable about it. It felt like I'd betrayed him by being happy."

"Betrayed?! I have never met Richard but from what I've heard he would be livid to hear you've been living in guilt due to you being actually happy. Do you really think he'd want you to spend the rest of your life unable to actually live?"

John shook his head weakly.

They sat in silence for a little while. It was getting late but it didn't matter to them. They needed this, both of them. The rain patterned against the window pane.

"How did you meet him?" Sherlock mused eventually.

"Well..."

- _ **Memory**_ -

The steady beeping was the first thing that broke through and into his consciousness. It was a sound he knew all too well to ignore and it's rhythmic beep eased him back from the darkness of sleep.

He opened his eyes slowly, only seeing a slit of his surroundings for a while. He recognised the faded yellow of the ceiling well enough to know the walls also matched. He shifted slightly to hear the tell-tell rustling of crisp, clean(but over washed) hospital bedding.

He was about to make more observations when a voice, steady like an incoming tide, stopped him.

"I see you're awake, Watson." The voice, powerful and smooth spoke as though it's owner had great knowledge.

"Yes..." John answered uncertainly. He couldn't remember what happened or what he did to end up inside one of the hospital rooms on base.

There was a laugh, "I'm glad you are because last time I said that you were still unconscious. I'm glad I was alone otherwise I would have appeared to be a great lumbering fool." There was the noise of a heavy boot moving closer, "Do you need anything? Water? Help sitting up?"

"Yeah, both if that's alright." John admitted, trying to shuffle himself up. Strong but gentle hands helped him to prop up against the stiff pillows which allowed John to peer at his helper.

A tall, tanned, brown haired man stood close to his bed. A smile decorated his open face which had a minor case of stubble. John instantly liked the man due to his friendly manner. He seemed to be waiting for questions but, when John didn't start asking, he began to give the answers anyway.

"There was a minor explosion during the retrieval of one of the trucks from up the mountain where they had that stand off last week. But don't worry, I can see you're already panicking, nobody got hurt apart from you and you were only really knocked unconscious when you fell from the blast. We were worried about concussion." He smiled, "Needless to say, I was scared to death when I'd only been on base a few days and the best medic in the whole of the British army got carried in on a stretcher. Thought perhaps this was your desperate attempt to get out of my base!" He chuckled. "Anyway, Sarah and I ran up and got you while the boys fetched the truck." John knew Sarah she was the other medic here.

John couldn't help laughing too despite the man's explanation being littered with compliments. He blushed, looking down at the blanket covering him. A plastic cup of water appeared in front of him. The soldier was holding it out and John took it shakily.

"Don't worry, you'll be right as rain real soon."

"How do you know? Are you a doctor?" John laughed, smiling at the man.

"No but I just have a good feeling. Let me go and get Sarah to confirm my diagnosis!"

* * *

Sarah walked in moments later with the soldier. She raised her eyebrow upon setting eyes on John.

"Nope, he definitely has concussion." She said.

"How can you possibly tell from over here?" In awe, the other man cried.

"Because he appears to have taken to you and who in their right mind would like Major Nice-guy?"

He laughed sarcastically, "Hardy har har! Stick to the day job." He grinned like a boy up to mischief. "Anyway, I'm off! I'll come and visit soon, Dr Watson."

The man was just about to walk out the door when John stopped him, "Wait! What's your name?"

He beamed, smile completely straight, unlike the cheesy romance novels, but it still came across roguish, "Major Richard Basett at your service." He did a minor bow before leaving swiftly.

It was merely seconds later that Sarah spoke, "John, if you could have hearts in your eyes you would."


	16. Chapter 16

John blinked, suddenly realising that he'd been lost in the memory for a couple of minutes. Sherlock was watching him with deep creases in his forehead.

The doctor coughed and shuffled in his seat, "I met him while in Afghanistan. He was new on base and brought me back in when I got caught out by an IED."

Sherlock nodded, he was relieved that John had finally answered.

John tucked one of his knees under his chin so he could rest his head. His psychosomatic leg injury preventing himself completely curling up on himself. He yawned which made his eyes water.

John's eyes shot to the clock on the wall, "Oh gosh, it's nearly 2am." He rubbed his eyes. They'd arrived late home anyway so staying up to talk had caused them to drift into the early hours. The doctor peered around the room, his eyes scanning along the few items. "I'm heading off to bed now but you can stay here if you want. I'll pull out the sofa bed and get you some blankets."

Sherlock hesitated before accepting.

John went quickly to go and fetch the bedding from the cupboard. He was back in moments and pulled the sofa apart with familiar ease. It creaked as it moved. The doctor laid out the blanket and pillows careful for Sherlock.

Sherlock watched him work with a ghost of a smile. He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to grow so find of this broken, small Army Doctor. Mycroft has taught him much about keeping himself distant from people but somehow John had collided into his life when he was completely unprepared. He smiled.

"I have to get Hamish tomorrow." John murmured while smoothing out the blanket with military precision, "He was staying with Greg today and tonight so just ignore me if you hear me moving around tomorrow." He turned and looked up at the detective, "Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Good night, John Watson."

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was woken up by chaos. The sound of pans falling out of cupboards and a human tripping onto the floor. A loud moan resonated through the thin wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. The detective blinked awake into the pale light of early morning. The sounds of irrecoverable destruction sounded out causing Sherlock to hoist himself from the squeaky bed.

He pulled on his shirt and trousers to then hurry through to the disaster zone.

John was lying on the floor behind the small table with pans surrounding him. He opened is eyes upon hearing Sherlock step into the room.

"Man down." John chuckled gently, his grey eyes sparkling. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Not at all." Sherlock lied, grinning down at the man. He held out his hand and helped John clamber back onto his feet. "What time is it?"

John glanced at his watch,"Almost quarter to six. I just got called by Charlie at work, Dr Poolio is sick so they need a cover. She knows I can never say no so I'm heading in now."

"What about Hamish?" The detective leant his head like a confused puppy.

John sighed a deeply unhappy sigh, "Greg'll have to drop him off at daycare."

"What about me?" Sherlock perked up.

"What about you?!" Laughed the doctor, "I didn't know I'd have to plan your days for you!" He laughed again.

"No," He shook his head, "Why can't I pick Hamish up and watch him for you today?" He ran his violinist fingers through his disobedient curls which messed them up even more. He tried to look as honourable and trustworthy as he could.

John peered at him for a while in silence; Assessing and weighing up the dangers.

"Okay, if you go soon and collect him from Greg... But if one thing goes wrong you'd better be calling me before anything happens." He hesitated, "I'll be finished work at 4."

"Really? You're letting me care for Hamish?" He crowed.

John laughed, "Yes, don't make me change my mind!"

* * *

 ** _Reviews and favourites are what keep me writing so thank you to everyone who has done so! Please do if you haven't yet!_**

 ** _My exams finish this week so hopefully I'll be able to get a new update schedule!_**


	17. Chapter 17

The door he knocked on was black and the entrance to a nicer flat in London. He'd been here a handful of times since he met the owner a few years ago. Lestrade answered the door swiftly, looking disheveled and with his tie not yet tied. His hair was ruffled where he'd been running his hands through it so much. Clearly, the man barely had enough sense to get himself ready on early mornings let alone a child as well.

"Sherlock." He greeted, taking a sip of his coffee and walking back into the flat for the man to follow after. "Hamish!" He called into the flat next, "Sherlock is here to pick you up."

The detective inspector peered at Sherlock over his coffee, "I can't believe he is actually letting you do this!" He chuckled.

"John lets you look after Hamish!" Sherlock objected with a wave of his hands.

"Yes but I'm his uncle... Not by blood but I've been helping out since he was a baby and plus, your a psychopath!"

"Sociopath." He answered coolly, glaring at the DI.

* * *

Sherlock held onto the small human's hand tightly. It mildly frustrated him that he had to significantly slow down his pace but he accepted it begrudgingly. He glanced down at Hamish, who was trying to jump over the cracks in the pavement, and let out a smile. He hadn't ever been given the opportunity to spend time with a child before.

The small boy's hair bumped up and down as his body rose and fell. The innocent grey eyes would occasionally flit to Sherlock's large feet as he didn't even attempt to jump the lines. He seemed to wish Sherlock would also jump.

While walking hand in hand with Hamish, Sherlock did notice how many older women glanced at him with fondness in their eyes. Mothers clearly appreciative of a father playing their role. He wasn't going to burst out to some stranger that he and Hamish weren't related.

"So," Sherlock decided to try and produce some intellectual conversation from the four year old."What did you do with your uncle yesterday?"

The boy swung on his arm, pulling him down. Sherlock regained balance quickly to prevent them collapsing onto the pavement.

"I have spaghetti and pull it up like this." He make a sucking sound with his mouth as though he was drawing in a length of pasta, "And I watch Big Hero 6 and play with Monkey. Uncle Greg read me Gruffalo!" He pulled on Sherlock's arm again but this time the man was prepared so held his upper body rigid.

"Sounds like you had fun." Sherlock mumbled.

"Where we going? Where Papa?" Hamish peered up at the tall man.

"I'm taking you home. Your Papa had to go to work so I am watching you today instead." He smiled at the boy, trying to stop him being disappointed that his father had to spend another day apart.

"Will we play?" He asked, priorities set in order.

"Of course, we will play. We will do other things too." Sherlock chuckled at the boy. He was glad he was allowed to be innocent and have a normal childhood. When he was Hamish's age he was already intellectually ahead so he couldn't act like a normal child. He couldn't have fun. Looking down at the boy now, he wished he had been able to have something similar to him where he can just be a child.

"I am hungry." The light haired boy told the detective while tugging at his sleeve.

"Already?" The boy nodded and Sherlock sighed, "Fine, I'll get you some ice cream."

* * *

John clicked the door open quietly as the flat was silent. If there was any activity, the flat would be small enough to reveal it. There was no such thing silence in a small flat. It wasn't that rare for Hamish to be quiet but silent was an oddity. He would normally be scribbling on a piece of paper and bashing his toys against the floor.

He crept in, just in case his son was napping. He poked his head around the bedroom door to find it empty. He frowned and padded further into the flat. He looked inside the living room and discovered the pair.

Sherlock was lying back on the sofa with Hamish cuddled next to him. A book was on Sherlock's lap but they were both asleep.

John chuckled before going out to change into something more comfortable. He decided to leave them to nap for a few minutes more as, from the mess on the living room floor, it appeared as though they'd had a very busy day. He made a mental note to tidy it up once Hamish was in bed.


	18. Chapter 18

John was chopping up apples when he finally heard movement from the other room. The familiar creak of the sofa indicated that one, or both, of the boys were moving around. He didn't stop cutting the apples into segments though.

A few seconds later, he was done but there was no sign of either male so he carried the plate of apple sections through to the living room where they were both still asleep. Sherlock had shifted though so he was lying more horizontal which explained the noises.

John smirked, "Snack time, boys!"

He sat on the edge of the sofa and held the plate out as they both jumped. Sherlock blinked rapidly and Hamish rubbed at his sleepy eyes. They were not prepared to be ripped from their slumber.

John smiled at them both. They caused a warmth to develop in his chest. They really were the cutest things.

"Apple anyone?" He asked with a grin as he plucked himself a piece and bit into it.

"You're back already?" Sherlock leant his head.

"Yes, it's gone 4!"

Sherlock blinked, "Hamish has had me so busy that I actually completely lost track of time." He admitted, running his hands through his dark curls.

"Did he wear you out or did you wear him out?" The ex-soldier chuckled, nodding at where they'd napped on the couch. His grey eyes glittered with good humour.

Sherlock laughed and ruffled Hamish's blond hair, "I think I'm exhausted and he is merely tired. I've never looked after a child before and I wasn't expecting it to be quite this chaotic."

Hamish's small hand reached out and grabbed a large piece of apple. He smacked his lips together in anticipation before taking a large bite of his fruit.

"With parenting it all becomes about learning to channel the chaotic and appreciate any glimpse of peace you can manage. Trust me when I say that nap time is a saviour." He explained to Sherlock while watching his child.

The doctor tried to flatten down a few pieces of Hamish's hair which were sticking up from his nap. The strands remained resiliently upwards, defying gravity. He gave up after his attempts failed. Sherlock watched their gentle interaction.

"Thank you though." John murmured, his eyes met Sherlock's, "Nobody really understands how guilty I feel about having to leave Hamish in daycare most days. The fact he got to stay out and actually spend the day with someone was a real help." After a moment he added, "I can tell he really had fun too." He smiled tenderly at the detective.

"I had fun too... Maybe we can do this again sometime?" He bucked up the courage to ask. He hoped to ingrain himself in what John had built, if the man would allow.

John peaked up at him, his lips curled upwards, "I think I would like that. I think Ishy would like it too."

The doctor felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time in a very long time. He was scared of what this may progress into but he was also excited for it. He liked Sherlock and hoped this could grow without it ending up in disaster.

Sherlock smiled and his fingers fiddled with the button on his shirt.

The peace was destroyed by Hamish squealing, "Papa! Sherly! Let's play!" The boy rocketed off the sofa and towards his bedroom.

John knew exactly where his son was going. He was undoubtedly hauling his toy animals out of his toy trunk and dumping them on the floor.

* * *

Two hours later

"Mr Moo is sick! We have to call a vet!" Sherlock grumbled in a funny voice. In his hand he was holding a lion and pretended to make it run across the carpet to Hamish's character.

"Don't be scared!" Hamish got his snake toy to slither across the carpet to where a cow was lying on its side after it fell over. "I will call a doctor!"

John knew when his character was needed, "I'm a doctor! I can help!" The dog in his hand ran across to help. He made it look like the dog was checking the patient over, "Mr Moo has collapsed because he hasn't been eating his vegetables!"

Sherlock chuckled.

The three men were lying on their stomachs with a scene in front of them. They manoeuvred the characters into a game and played together. Sherlock thought he'd get bored but he surprised himself when he began to get invested into their pretend narrative.


	19. Chapter 19

Hamish was bathed, teeth brushed and tucked up ready for bed. The duvet was right up to his chin and the little boy giggled as John tucked the blankets under him until he was cocooned like a caterpillar. Hamish wriggled around on the bed laughing.

From where he was watching at the door frame, Sherlock chuckled at the boy's antics. Over the course of one day Hamish had wriggled into his heart and he could now see exactly how adorable the little monkey was. He smiled and didn't bother scolding himself for getting way too attached.

Once the boy had calmed down, John stood up and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, "Night-night. Sleep tight."

"And don't bed bugs bite!" The child yawned, allowing his head to rest back against the pillow.

The doctor knelt down and flicked on the night light. The golden star emitted a gentle yellow glow, just bright enough to ward off the darkness. Once on, he switched off the main light and pulled the door ajar. John had a soft smile as no matter how many times he did it, tucking Hamish up always made his heart squeeze.

* * *

"Hamish is a really special kid." Sherlock murmured quietly.

John nodded, leading the detective to the kitchen where he began making mugs of tea, "I don't know what I'd do without him. He is constantly a little ray of sunshine. I just wish I could be with him more but the only way to afford this flat and everything for him is to work crazy hours."

"Unless you could find somewhere cheaper." Sherlock mused.

"Cheaper? In London?" He chuckled, "That's rather optimistic, Sherlock."

The detective nodded, "You're right. I'm sorry." He glanced down at the floor.

"Don't be sorry. I'm always open to suggestions." He handed the tall man a hot cup of tea. "You're just trying to help."

The sociopath glanced at John and their eyes met. John smiled gently.

The small man stepped forward and went onto his tiptoes so their lips could meet. They kissed for only seconds but Sherlock could feel his heart beat racing in his chest. His stomach did flips in excitement. John pulled back all too soon.

"Is this okay?" He asked, quietly. He didn't want to do something then get shot down. He needed all the cards on the table so he could work out his next step. He needed Sherlock to tell him if he felt the same.

Sherlock nodded, his mouth suddenly dry, "More than okay."

John grinned, "Thank you for everything you did today." He leant up and kissed him again. This time the detective was ready and took advantage of that fact.

* * *

"Bye-Bye, Ishy!" John waved to his son as he inched out of the door. He had left Hamish with Sherlock a handful of times since the first but he still was always hesitant to leave his baby. As he pulled around the door he kept his arm waving until he was completely outside. He sighed.

Charlie from the hospital messaged him which caused his phone to vibrate in his pocket,

-Half Day for you today! Dr S is coming back after lunch xx-

He smiled at the prospect of getting home to Hamish and Sherlock a few hours early. He set off to work with a more positive outlook.

The flat was empty. Both boys were gone and John had no idea where they'd disappeared to! Panic tightened in his chest as his fingers scrambled to reach his mobile. He flicked to Sherlock's number in seconds and was ringing.

He spoke before Sherlock could murmur a greeting, "Where is Hamish?"

"It's fine, John. He's here with me." The detective tried to sooth.

"That's great but where are you?" He pushed.

"Oh, we are with Lestrade on Clives Road."

"You're with Greg? That's a relief. Wait, why are you with Greg? If you say a crim-"

Sherlock started speaking before John could finish,"On a crime scene."

"YOU TOOK MY BABY TO A MURDER?!" He roared down the phone.

* * *

 _ **Massive Thanks to all Reviews and favourites that are being left! They make my day every time! Xx**_


	20. Chapter 20

By the time John reached the crime scene, he was flustered and red in the face. He was puffing from the speed walk he had taken half the way across London. His grey eyes scanned the area for his child as he strode under the blue and white police tape.

Even police officers that he was fairly acquainted with gave him a wide berth when they saw the furious look plastered across his face. He had no family at all aside from his son and that detective dares to put him at risk like this?!

Somehow he knew exactly where the consulting detective would be so he strode straight towards where the corpse was lying. He spotted Lestrade first and sped up.

"Where is Hamish?!" He ground out through gritted teeth.

Greg didn't speak in the face of John's anger. Instead the policeman pointed a few meters away to where Sherlock was poking the Tarmac. Hamish was playing beside the sociopath obliviously. The boy giggled as he waved the toy giraffe in the air.

The ex-soldier aimed straight of the young boy, scooping him into his arms. He squeezed him tightly to reassure himself that he really was safe and not in danger. He hugged him to his chest.

"Papa?!" His high voice squeaked with joy.

"Are you okay?" The doctor rushed to say, brushing the hair out of his son's face.

"Yes, Papa!" The boy wriggled until John let him go and the Hamish ran back over to where his toy was. He continued playing like before.

John hadn't noticed Greg until the man spoke, "He's fine, John. I wouldn't say it is the best environment for a child but he's safe. I've been looking out for him." The man smiled gently. "Anyway, you really baby him."

The ex-soldier relaxed his shoulders slightly and rubbed at his forehead, "I know... I just can't help it." He blinked down at the floor as he thought back.

* * *

-/Memory\\-

"What are you doing?! Stop!" John squealed as he watched Richard throw their son several feet above his head.

Hamish was crying out with pure joy as he felt the wind flying past him. Richard caught him securely before once again pushing his only son toward the skies. John watched on in absolute horror. His grey eyes were stuck to the child.

"Stop?" Laughed Richard, "He's loving it. Aren't you Hamish?" The boy was too young to properly respond but his joyful noises were enough of a confirmation.

"Please stop! He's only a baby!" The doctor pressed further. Hamish wasn't a baby but to John he would always be his baby boy.

The soldier sighed, rolled his eyes and this time, when his child came plummeting toward the ground, caught him tightly and placed him into the ground where he continued chewing a plastic block on the picnic blanket.

John had never been so relieved to see his son on solid ground. He kiss the top of the boy's head and gently touched his cheek. To have him safe was all he wanted.

John could tell that his partner wasn't completely okay with him raining on their parade. There was a limited time before Richard was due to be deployed again and it was obvious he was trying to form a strong bond with their son. He didn't want to be a stranger to the child they'd vowed to raise together.

With John being invalided home last year, the doctor always grew increasingly anxious about his partner heading back out to war. Everyday Richard was out there, the doctor had images of him being shot or caught in a bomb. He would often lie awake at night with these thoughts paralysing him. However, he refused to voice these concerns to Richard as he knew his partner would feel guilty.

"You have to stop babying him, Love. He's got to grow and experience everything himself." Richard spoke gently with the softest smile. He knew how to care for John and for their child.

-/\\-

* * *

Sherlock turned around from where he was peering off and noticed the short man. A smile burst onto his face, "John!"

"Are you ready to go?" John said and as he did he realised that while lost in his memory his anger had evaporated.

The detective nodded and they set off together in the direction of home with Hamish securely in his father's arms. The walked side by side for several minutes before John finally spoke.

"I'm sorry I was so angry earlier. It was just because... Hamish is all I have. I have no family outside of him." He spoke quietly but Sherlock could hear him over the traffic on the road beside them.

The detective peered down at the man curiously, "No family? No mother or father?" He asked.

John shook his head and his lips turned down, "No, they couldn't accept me for what I am. On occasion I'd get a birthday card but when I officially got with Richard they stopped all contact. I tried writing but the letters got sent back unopened." He shrugged despite his voice cracking slightly.

The detective couldn't believe these people would do this to their own son just because he was homosexual. That did change who he was in the slightest.

"Well, they should be very proud of you and everything you've achieved. Not many people could do what you've done."

John didn't answer but he did wipe a tear away from his eye discretely.


	21. Chapter 21

They made it home in one piece and John decided, due to his stomach rumbling, that it was time for dinner. He wasn't in the mood for sitting down and actually having to prepare something serious so he pulled some smiley face potato shapes and dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets out of the freezer. Sherlock said he'd stick around for dinner so John made enough for three. It gave him flashbacks to how it used to be.

It was a funny sight to see a 6 foot consulting detective munching on smile faces and dino nuggets. John watched as they interacted. It was nice to see that Hamish was finally becoming comfortable around other people who weren't him or Greg.

"How do you eat him?" Sherlock asked gently when Hamish held up his fork to show the T-Rex speared on the end.

"Like this!" Hamish bit the dinosaurs head off and munched happily.

"... An absolute savage." The detective muttered while chuckling at the boy.

John grinned at them. His heart squeezed watching them talk and he secretly wished that it could always be this way.

* * *

A week later-

"I can't believe you persuaded me to do this. I'm so weak." John groaned as they made their way down the busy street. The doctor grasped his son's hand tightly to ensure he didn't get swept away in the hoards of people.

Sherlock leant over and dropped a quick peck onto John's lips. Over the last week they'd slowly been growing more intimate and Sherlock had taken to kissing John at random times.

"Sherlock!" John hissed, "Hamish might have seen that!"

The detective turned with a frown engraved upon his porcelain features, he blinked in confusion, "Does it matter if Hamish sees?"

"Well... No but I don't want him to feel overwhelmed by it. The only person he has ever seen me kiss was his father. I just feel that we need to go really slow while around him. Just baby steps." John tried to persuade the detective. He held a whiny tone to his voice which made him sound more like Hamish than an actual adult.

He huffed a sigh and glanced down at the oblivious child, "Fine. I'll do it for Hamish."

John grinned, checked his son wasn't watching and jumped up to place a kiss on the taller man's cheek, "Thank you."

They continued marching onwards to the crime scene. Sherlock had received a call from Lestrade an hour ago asking him to come and see what he could find about this latest murder. Sherlock then preceded to spend the next 45 minutes begging John to also come along. The doctor had protested as he didn't want to bring Hamish to such an environment again. Eventually, Sherlock won.

They turned the corner to where the crime scene was taking place. They ducked under the blue and white police tape. Hamish tugged at his father's hand.

"Where going?" The small boy asked, a look of confusion on his face. He could see the swarms of uniformed officers around them.

"Sherlock has to do some work so Papa said he'd help him."

"Okay." The boy accepted without fuss. He had grown accustomed to his life being dictated by the work of his adults. It had been that way since Richard was a solider, far away from them, and then again when John got a job at St Bart's with viciously long hours.

"You're a good boy, Hamish." John murmured, ruffling the boys hair as they made their way over to the hub of the crime scene. The doctor didn't want his child here but could see that as Sherlock became more ingrained in their life they would have to make certain sacrifices.

* * *

Another short chapter because school has been messing with my life! On a brighter note, I recently reached 100 stories. Please feel free to check them out! X


	22. Chapter 22

They were in another swanky restaurant that made John just a little bit uncomfortable. Patrons on nearby tables were glaring at them with judging eyes, or at least that's what the doctor's paranoid mind believed. He took a gulp of his wine in an attempt to steady his jittering nerves. Grey eyes scanned around them.

Suddenly, Sherlock regained his attention by leaning forward until their eyes met.

"John?" The detective looked concerned, two small lines creasing in between his brows, "Are you okay?"

John desperately tried to guess what Sherlock had been talking about while he was glancing around the room in a paranoid nature. He opened and closed his mouth as he searched for the correct words.

"I'm fine." The doctor said feebly, "What were you saying?"

"I was just asking if you didn't like your food?" He looked worried.

The ex-soldier peered down at his plate to notice almost his whole meal was still sat there getting colder by the minute. He quickly picked up his fork, embarrassed.

"Sorry, my mind wandered a little." He mumbled just loud enough for the other man's ears to pick up. He blushed as he stuffed some of the roast salmon between his lips.

There was a few moments of tense silence as Sherlock assessed the situation, "Okay. What I was really talking about a minute ago was us."

John froze with his mouth open and the fork a few centimetres away laden with food. His eyes darted around in a panic.

"What about us?" Was this Sherlock stopping the beginning of whatever they'd be developing? What this Sherlock outright refusing him? The doctor swallowed thickly, returning the untouched morsel to his plate.

"Did you- Do you want... John, I know we haven't known each other long but I was wondering if you wanted to make it official? Can I call you my boyfriend? My partner?" He stuttered and stumbled until he'd forced the sentence from his mouth. He sat stockstill afterwards analysing the movements of John Watson. However, the man didn't move much; he only breathed.

Sherlock sighed after moments of silence, "Don't worry. I understand. It's so okay. I think-"

"Yes."

Sherlock recoiled, "Wait! What? Really?" His smile grew and grew until it was a dazzling grin.

John took a steadying breath and nodded, "Yeah. I'd like to call you my partner, Sherlock." The doctor blushed and scratched at the back of his neck.

The detective wanted to leap from his seat. His whole life he had been too scared to connect with people but when he finally finds that one person who makes it easy the man likes him back! His heart skipped inside his rib cage. It thrummed like a drum.

"Thank you, John." His cheeks ached from smiling so intensely.

-/-/-/-/-/-

6 months later

"This could be nice." The doctor dropped the cardboard box onto the kitchen table and peered around, "This could be very nice." It wasn't massive inside 221B but just big enough for them to live comfortably. It have them more space then the doctor's old apartment.

Sherlock placed one of his own boxes beside John's, "I knew you'd like it. Will Hamish be okay upstairs?"

John nodded, "He'll only sleep up there."

They'd began to pull things out of the boxes and fill the shelves when John finally spoke. The detective glanced over his shoulder at his partner as the words slipped from his lips easily.

"I can't believe we are here. I can't believe we have our own flat." The ex-soldier grinned, the excitement shown clearly on his face.

Sherlock moved behind him and looped his arms around the small man's torso. The detective placed a soft kiss to the doctor's head.

"I'm so proud of us. I can't wait to see what we do next!"

-/-

 ** _This is the final chapter! Epilogue comes tomorrow!_**


	23. Epilogue

-/-/-/-/-/-

1 year later

"John?" Sherlock called up the stairs. He glanced down at his watch impatiently, "We are going to be late!"

The stomping on the stairs from their shared flat indicated that his partner was finally on his way. The doctor looked rushed and flustered. His face red and breathing harsh. John tugged on his jacket as he stumbled down the last few steps and stood looking up at his partner.

"Sorry, Love." He murmured, "I couldn't get the smell of antiseptic off my hands." The doctor subconsciously rubbed his palms against the rough material of his jeans.

"It's fine but come on." Sherlock encouraged him towards the door. "We don't want to miss our appointment."

The door of 221 slammed behind them as they rushed out onto the busy Baker Street. John still hadn't quite adjusted to the increased footfall past his new flat but he knew he'd already fallen in love with the place. Their landlady was also an absolute wonder. He'd never miss the old cramped spaced he owned before.

"St Edwards RC Primary School." Sherlock instructed to the driver as he and John tumbled into a black cab. The vehicle began moving straight away.

"I'm nervous." John muttered to Sherlock. His fingers played with the zip on his jacket.

"Don't be!" Sherlock reassured his partner, "Hamish would have done great so far!"

The doctor didn't seem convinced but he turned to stared out the window anyway. His mind was busy working over his thoughts.

"Mrs Grathem?" John asked as he stepped up to the small table. He shook the woman's hand before lowering himself down on a tiny chair specially designed for the young students.

"Mr and Mr Watson?" She asked, smiling openly. She was a good teacher for Hamish and John liked her.

Sherlock couldn't find it within himself to correct the last name but he also found that he actually liked being a Watson. He smiled.

"Well, first I'd like to say that Hamish is a delight to have in class! A really kind and polite little boy." She consulted her notes as she spoke, "We're aware he has faced a difficult time over the last few years but I personally believe that he has coped remarkably."

John and Sherlock nodded, eager to hear more wonderful things about their boy.

"He is progressing well in every area and he is clearly a very bright child. I might even go as far as to say 'gifted'." She grinned at the men's pride, "I expect great things from Hamish." She nodded with absolute certainty.

John fought back the tear that threatened to drop over. He'd feared for so long that his son would be bullied or teased for having two fathers but that apparently wasn't the case. His pride was choking him. He looked over at Sherlock to see the detective was also grinning with pride. They'd done well for Hamish.

* * *

"Good job, Baby." John grinned as he tucked Hamish under his blanket, "You've done so good."

Sherlock smiled from where he was sat on the young boy's bed, "We're really proud of you, Hamish."

The pride on the boy's face made every second worth it.

"Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Sherly."

* * *

 ** _Thank you so much for reading and a special thanks to all those who have favourited and reviewed! I really appreciate it! Please feel free to check out my other stories!_**


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